


Sashannarcy Snapshots (SFW)

by sirifiriwiri (viridiangold), viridiangold



Series: Sashannarcy Normal AU [1]
Category: Amphibia (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Bliss, F/F, Feel-good, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Parental Issues, Polyamory, Slice of Life, Spooning, rated T for implicit sexual themes, they are in love so much aaaaah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridiangold/pseuds/sirifiriwiri, https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridiangold/pseuds/viridiangold
Summary: So... this is a sfw sashannarcy feel-good fic that I am writing purely for self-indulgent reasons, but I guess you can all read this too :)They are aged up (timeline in third chapter!)I'll update it irregularly when I have the urge to write, so be forewarned. Trigger warnings (if needed) are in the chapter summaries.(OH YEAH ALSO: I SEE YOUR COMMENTS AND I LOVE YOU ALL FOR COMMENTING AND READING but also for this fic I will probably not be responding to them as much. I didn't write sfw content for the longest time because of emotional vulnerability problems, and I'm not sure I want to discuss the very clearly self-projected issues with people. BUT PLEASE KNOW THAT THE COMMENTS ARE SEEN AND APPRECIATED GREATLY THANK YOU)The nsfw counterpart is also in this series. Please don't go there unless you have a reasonably good understanding of what sex is, how it works, and what a safe and healthy sexual relationship is supposed to be like.
Relationships: Anne Boonchuy/Marcy Wu, Anne Boonchuy/Sasha Waybright, Anne Boonchuy/Sasha Waybright/Marcy Wu, Sasha Waybright/Marcy Wu
Series: Sashannarcy Normal AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010220
Comments: 12
Kudos: 93





	1. Marcy Cries

Marcy cries sometimes when she thinks she’s worthless. 

“You’re not,” Sasha says, at first sharp and furious and passionate—then, when she sees Marcy’s flinch; remembers the way Marcy’s mother used to scream—she softens her voice. “Marcy, my love. You’re my everything.”

Sometimes Marcy believes this. Other times, she wonders how anyone as cool and hot as Sasha could say that to someone as annoying and useless and self-centered as herself. She shivers as she cries, loud, gasping, heaving sobs that shudder her small frame.

“You’re not any of those things, Marce,” Sasha says, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Come on. Let’s make you a burrito.”

It’s not a real burrito. Marcy doesn’t eat burritos to feel better. Her secret comfort food is white rice soaked in green tea. Her parents used to make fun of her for it, calling it an abomination some sort of white American might cook up to mockingly approximate a real Chinese dish. But she just likes it. It tastes light and refreshing, and she just likes it.

Sasha carries her to the bedroom and lays her down on a giant, fluffy blanket Anne has prepared. Solemnly, they look at each other, and begin rolling Marcy into the blanket until she’s safely ensconced in it. Like a burrito. 

“Emergency Animal Crossing time, wee woo wee woo,” Anne jokes. 

Marcy shuts her eyes. They’re swollen and hurt a lot and feel hot. “I don’t want to right now.”

“How about Apex Legends? Stardew Valley? 2048 Cupcakes?”

Marcy shakes her head. 

“I’ll go get some… gamer fuel?” Sasha suggests.

She means Dr. Pepper. It’s Marcy’s favorite drink. “No,” she manages to croak out. “Just stay.”

She huddles down on the floor, trying to ignore the echoes of her mother’s voice in her head. It’s easier when Sasha and Anne fling themselves on her, encircling her in their arms. 

Everything’s easier when they are with her.


	2. Sasha Tries to Sabotage Her Relationships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for more angst and hurt/comfort. 
> 
> TW: bad coping mechanism, self-sabotaging a good and healthy relationship, intrusive thoughts, mentions of sadism, crying

Anne hates that brittle, wild look in Sasha’s eyes. She reaches out, stepping forward to place her hand lightly on Sasha’s shoulders, but she shrugs away. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Sasha hisses, eyes darting around the bedroom but never quite meeting Anne’s concerned gaze. “I’m not a good person. I don’t know how you haven’t figured this out yet.”

Anne closes her eyes, her heart clenching. When Sasha gets like this, she doesn’t know how to comfort her, how to convince her that she’s normal and not-evil and deserving of the love that she has. 

“Sasha…” she says helplessly.

“Don’t say my name like that,” Sasha says, quiet and shaky. “Leave me alone.”

Anne cannot express in words just how much she cannot do that. Instead, she exclaims, “Let me help you work through this!”

Sasha blinks hard a couple of times before turning away. “I’m a terrible person, Anne,” she says, her voice now cold. “If you knew the things I’ve thought about, you wouldn’t want to help me.”

“Sash… please stop. Seeing you like this breaks my heart,” Anne cries.

“Good.” There’s an underlying tremble to her voice, though. “Maybe I want you to suffer.”

“No, this isn’t you,” Anne pleads weakly. Again, louder—“This isn’t you! Stop!”

There’s a flurry of sock-clad footsteps on the hardwood floor of the hallway, and Marcy comes sprinting into the bedroom. She stops and sighs as she gathers in the situation, Sasha standing stiffly and turned away, Anne leaning desperately towards her. 

“Don’t enable her, Anne,” Marcy says. “You can’t play along with this kind of self-destructive behavior.”

“It’s not a game!” Sasha whirls around, eyes blazing. “I—”

She visibly struggles for a moment, as if trying to say something terrible but being physically unable to bring herself to do so. 

Anne opens her mouth, but Marcy elbows her, hard. “Let me take this.”

And so she sits down on the bed and watches Marcy take the situation.

Sasha looks up, furious. “There’s nothing to take. Nothing to work through. I’m just—I’m just like this.”

“Uh huh,” Marcy says, crossing her arms. “Like what?”

“Not good for you,” Sasha whispers, dropping her head. 

“Sure. Give me one example of why.”

“I’m a toxic person to be around. I have anger issues.”

Marcy sighs. “We all have problems. That doesn’t make you toxic. You even know your problems, which makes you self-aware.”

“I don’t want to stop my problems, though,” Sasha declares, straightening up. “Maybe I like being a terrible person with fucking issues everywhere because I know I’m unfixable.”

“That’s stupid,” Marcy scoffs. “Listen to yourself. You don’t mean any of it.”

“I mean it!” Sasha says loudly. Anne flinches, and Sasha looks away. “That’s why I think—you should just leave me.”

Anne gasps. “No, we would never—” 

One annoyed look from Marcy silences her. Marcy inhales deeply and puts her palms together. “I’m not a licensed professional, so you shouldn’t take this as a diagnosis, but I’ve been researching our various mental health issues, and I’m pretty sure that you, Sasha Dramatic Waybright, have some spicy abandonment issues and fear of rejection, specifically the fear of losing us, that makes you distrust the stability of our current relationship, so your dumb brain is coming up with ways to sabotage your relationships for you so that you won’t experience the pain of rejection later on.”

Sasha flushes. “You can’t psychoanalyze me!”

“I can, and I will,” Marcy says, calmly. “In fact, whatever you say now, I will either psychoanalyze it or make fun of it.”

Sasha bites her lip. “Sometimes I wish you were all dead!”

Tears spring to the corners of her eyes. Anne wants nothing more than to go to her, to wipe them off, but she won’t be the one to disrupt whatever Marcy’s doing.

Marcy rolls her eyes. “Everyone thinks that about their loved ones at least once in their life. You’re crying. You don’t mean it.”

“Yes, I do. Sometimes I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Have you ever heard of intrusive thoughts?”

“Yes,” Sasha bites out. “You wouldn’t stop talking about that when I was—when I kept thinking about what if I—got into a car crash.”

“Yeah. Same thing. Do you ever wish you personally could kill me?”

Horror washes over Sasha’s face.

“See? You don’t actually want that.”

“But I—sometimes I have violent thoughts about both of you.”

“What kind?”

“Like I—not just for sex. Like I just want to hurt you so that you can feel pain, not for—”

“That’s just sadism, Sasha.”

“No, like, I relish the idea of you suffering a  _ lot _ of pain sometimes, and that’s an abusive thought to have—”

“Sadism. I think that’s hot.”

To Anne’s complete surprise, Sasha looks tired and bewildered now as she sinks down to sit on the bed as well. Marcy flashes her a smug smile before continuing to grill Sasha.

“So, anything else you worried about?”

“I’m still a toxic person. You were the one who said that, when I was younger—”

“That’s stupid.”

“But you said it—”

“Yeah, genius, you were kind of a bitch when we were barely even teens, but everyone acts dumb at that age. You can’t just, like, cancel a thirteen-year-old.”

“You can’t prove that I’m not the same now as I was back then!”

“What?”

“You can’t prove that I’m the same now… I mean, that I’m not different now that I’m… I mean, that I’m still not…”

“You can’t even state your point clearly, Sasha. I think it’s time for you to take a nap. We can continue this, if you want, after you wake up.”

Exhaustion and confusion flicker across Sasha’s tear-streaked face. “Yeah, we’re going to continue thi… ugh. I do kind of have a headache.”

“Oh, Sash,” Anne murmurs, scooping her up. Her heartbeat is fast against Anne’s palm, but starting to slow as she curls into Anne’s arms and starts to drift off.

Marcy lets out a relieved sigh and flops face first into their bed, bouncing up and down a couple of times. 

“Dang, she really just fell asleep,” Anne whispers in awe. “Marce, how’d you do that?”

“I think she just really needed to cry, let it all out, you know,” Marcy says into the comforter, her voice muffled. “We should get her into therapy. I really wasn’t kidding about those issues.”

“Yeah,” Anne says, stroking back blonde hair from Sasha’s forehead. “Sometimes, she seems a little…”

“Unstable?”

“I was going to say insecure, but yeah, that too.”

“It’s a product of trauma,” Marcy says. “Obviously, she can’t go to the same therapist as me, so we’ll have to find another one. Hopefully a specialist for her issues.”

“Mmm,” Anne says.

Marcy peels herself off the bed and sits cross legged facing Anne, her face suddenly serious. “Are you okay? I know it can be kind of upsetting, when she…”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, I hate seeing her doubt herself like that, but I know she doesn’t mean it.”

“Yeah,” Marcy echoes. “We’ll figure it out.”

“We will.”


	3. Sasha Rebels; a Timeline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three times Sasha had to come out: as bisexual, as polyamorous, and as kinky.  
> OR  
> a timeline of events in the Sashannarcy Normal AU
> 
> TW: references to homophobia, parent-related trauma, emotional abuse, one brief mention of minor physical abuse, prestigious universities, implied sexual content, implied bdsm

Sasha came out to her parents when she was fourteen because she was tired of their casual homophobia. She was angry, understandably. She wanted to shock them, to inflict a bisexual child on them. To make them suffer, to feel guilt for what they had said.

They accepted her identity reluctantly, protesting at first, but grudgingly acquiescing as, over the years, she reaffirmed it again and again. 

Sasha never told them or anyone about her relationship with Anne and Marcy. She was very good at hiding what was actually close to heart while revealing “secrets” that were safe. So, she made out sloppily with her most popular cheerleaders at parties, garnering the attention and admiration of practically all the boys at their high school. She also gained a reputation as a flirt with both sexes, leading people on but being too cool, too out of everyone’s league to ever commit to any desperate admirer.

Her mother would purse her lips when she saw the posts on social media that Sasha would flaunt, featuring her in the latest trendy outfit, hair prettily mussed as she stood wrapped all around some girl or another. 

Sasha let her parents think that she had nothing to hide.

_“What about your childhood friends? Anne and Marcy? Do they know you’re… are they also… like that?”_

_“What? Mom, no, ugh. They’re my friends. Don’t be weird.”_

_“Oh. Okay. Good. You can experiment in college all you want, but I know you’ll settle eventually. Don’t—don’t start anything now. Not while you’re living under my roof.”_

That afternoon, after Sasha’s mother let Anne and Marcy into the house with a relieved, friendly smile and left for shopping with the secure comfort of knowing they were all merely good friends, Sasha took great pleasure in fucking them both in her parents’ bed. And in her parents’ shower. And on the living room couch. And on the dining table. 

By the time her parents returned, her father from work and her mother from her errands, the three of them were studying hard in Sasha’s room, and the strong scent of lavender candle flooded the house, not a single trace of sex remaining.

Sasha gloried in this secret rebellion. 

This was partly because, if she did not glory in breaking the rules, she would have cried otherwise.

***

Sasha came out to her parents again when she was eighteen because she had been caught at their high school graduation dance in a dark corner with her hand down Anne’s pants, her pink lipstick smeared across Anne’s lips. She came out because she had to; because they had graduated and could not be given detention, but the faculty thought the incident merited telling her parents. 

Sasha scowled at this. Actually, she didn’t personally mind, because it didn’t matter a lot to her. Her girlfriends had made a life plan with her, and they knew they would be fine living on their own. 

_“You’ve lied to us. For how long, Sasha?” Her father’s voice, stern._

_Her mother’s face, tearful. “We’re not angry. We’re disappointed.”_

_“Years,” Sasha says, smugly. “I don’t give a fuck how you feel. I’m an adult now. I’m moving out, with my girlfriends, and I don’t need you or anyone else—”_

Sasha was upset with the faculty because they could have, for all they had known, outed a queer student to an unforgiving family. What did it matter if she was eighteen now? What if she had still been dependent upon her parents for basic life necessities?

Marcy was somewhat like that. She was only seventeen when they graduated. It was only through pure chance that her parents had not been informed of her participation in the incident, as Sasha had worn a ridiculous ball gown with a hoop skirt for the fun of it, and Marcy had been kneeling hidden between Sasha’s legs when the other two had been caught. 

They had still decided, all three of them, to tell their families that night about the real nature of their relationship. 

_“We’ve had enough of your rebellion, Sasha. If you really think you don’t need us, and that you’re allowed to say such things to us, then maybe we won’t pay your 50k college tuition.”_

_“Oh? You think I care? I’ll cry to the financial aid office about my homophobic parents—”_

_“We’ll set them straight—”_

_Sasha laughs at the unfortunate pun. “Or I’ll go to community college. It’s not like I care! But you would, wouldn’t you? I bet you gloat to all your golf club friends about how I got into suuuch a prestigious university. It seems all your loss, nothing I would care about.”_

Marcy’s father took it mildly. He made a slightly inappropriate misogynistic joke or two, clapped her awkwardly on the shoulder, and promised to support her. Marcy’s mother was appalled despite not hearing about the graduation dance incident or any of the other many… incidents. She moved around the house in disbelief and shock, shuffling around and doing nothing, a shell of her former self. She wouldn’t talk to Marcy for days. 

When she finally did, there was screaming and crying and a slap that echoed across Marcy’s face and throughout the house. She still ended up caring for Marcy. She simply pretended like nothing had changed and refused to bring up Marcy’s “unnatural relations” again.

Anne’s family took it the best. There were tears, yes, but tears of familial forgiveness. There were group hugs. There was Anne’s awkward attempt at explaining polyamory, and laughter. Sasha was jealous but quashed it. 

To be fair, Anne’s mother was utterly mortified that they had been engaging in sexual behavior in public and at school, no less. It was mostly fine, though.

_“Fine. Sasha, maybe this ‘being gay’ nonsense is now considered acceptable and fashionable in today’s youth, but polygamy is illegal and sinful—”_

_“We’re not Christians, dad.”_

_He shifts uncomfortably. “No, but it’s just… morally wrong. Can’t you just choose one of them?”_

_“Never,” Sasha snarls fiercely._

Sasha went to Harvard on a legacy. She was charismatic and had aced her interview, and her parents did end up paying her tuition after all. She studied business administration in hopes of entering an industry where all she needed was the charm of her voice and the brilliance of her ideas. 

Marcy went to MIT with an unreasonable amount of academic interests. The easy interdepartmental switching meant that she switched her major about a dozen times. Plus, she took advantage of their partner program with Harvard that would allow her to make the 30-minute walk to Sasha’s school in search of extra classes and hallway kisses with her girlfriend.

Anne stayed at home for the next two years, attending a local community college and helping her parents in their restaurant. She didn’t mind this very much, but she missed being with Sasha and Marcy. At least she often saw them on holidays. After she graduated community college in two years, she moved to Massachusetts, where her girlfriends had also decided to leave the on-campus dorms for their junior and senior years in favor of renting an apartment together. 

They would one day buy a house somewhere nice. 

Sasha would intern as an assistant product manager at some promising new startup to eliminate racial and socioeconomic barriers in tech industries. She would gradually climb up the ranks to become CEO and consider selling the company for profit, but would ultimately decide she cared about its mission (and her 200k salary) too much. 

Marcy would ultimately graduate with an undergraduate degree in gender and sexuality studies and return to university immediately to study psychology as a graduate (and later obtain a PhD). She would grow passionate about mental health issues, become a licensed professional, and work at several nonprofit organizations to lessen the stigma of neurodivergency. She would also work multiple other jobs to pursue her interests; while she was terrible at networking and interviews, Sasha’s well-developed network would open doors for Marcy to work as a software engineer, a museum curator, and, in her favorite position yet, entrepreneur and founder of a video game company that made a global hit RPG slash fighter slash puzzle slash visual novel masterpiece: Amphibia. (The three main characters were totally not self-inserts; that would be craaazy.)

Anne would operate a home-based lifestyle Thai comfort food business and take up archery and horseback riding because she’d “always thought it looked cool.” Her skills would eventually lead her to be hired as an extra in fantasy movies that required such background actors. It would even land her a minor role and open her to an intriguing field of possibilities. 

***

The last time Sasha had to come out to her parents came sometime during her college years, when she was, ironically, actually in a meeting of Harvard Munch, the official BDSM society at Harvard. Her mother called her. Like, on her phone. 

By the time the third missed call had fizzled out on her screen, she sighed heavily, removed herself from the fascinating group discussion of dealing with power imbalances and their relation to traditional gender roles, and answered the phone.

“What.”

Her mother, sounding hysterical and on the verge of tears, whisper-yelled something about finding things in her childhood bedroom.

Oh.

“What sort of things?”

Sasha winced at every item her mother shakily listed. She totally forgot about how she’d stashed nylon rope, matches, giant shears (to cut the ropes quickly if Marcy ever panicked, which she never did), handcuffs, and… yeah… the kitchen knife that had gone mysteriously missing… under her mattress. 

“Sasha, did you—did you hurt or murder someone? Were you planning to?”

 _No._ She tries her hardest not to laugh. “Oh my god.”

And then she had to explain what a knife kink was, to her mother, which was possibly the worst thing she had ever done. 

That evening, when she related this story to her partners, Marcy laughed so hard she fell off the bed while Anne gasped in scandalized shock.

“I really was sixteen, thinking I knew what I was doing when I gave you that cut, huh,” she said, pulling Sasha down to caress the scar on her cheek.

“I asked for it,” Sasha gently reminded her. “I like having it.”

Anne sighed.

From the floor, Marcy kept giggling. “I mean, I think we were always pretty safe.”

Sasha poked her head over the edge of the bed, gazing adoringly down at her. “Yeah? I think we need to be safer.”

“How?” Marcy took her extended hand, stumbling to her feet.

“Well, we can’t have you falling out of bed again.” Sasha slid open the drawer full of items she no longer had to hide. 

“Yeah,” Anne added. “We might have to tie you up to prevent further… accidents.”

Marcy bit her lip, smiling. 

And Sasha smiled too, because when she looped the rope around Marcy’s wrists this time, she was doing it purely for herself, with nothing to hide, nothing to rebel against, free.


	4. Marcy at Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcy stays up late at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it currently 2:46 AM? wow i hadn't noticed; that's compLETELY unrelated

She sits cross-legged on the office chair. Psychoanalytically speaking, she knows that she no longer subconsciously needs the refuge of the night to temporally avoid her parents. Still, there’s something comforting about being safely ensconced in the pool of light by her desk, sipping some Dr. Pepper in a tall glass while trying to simultaneously finish her research paper, edit her sapphic shipping AMV, and play this new indie game she found on itch.io. 

While the day feels like time slipping away, obligations and every hour passing in a flash, the dread of hearing the accusations and scolding of not being productive enough ( _ no, _ she’s left that in the past, she won’t hear it again, she won’t), not utilizing every second to perfection—the night feels like time as a tapestry, endless hours stretched out into infinitude. The night is forever. The night demands nothing from Marcy. At night, she feels like she has the time and power to do everything she’s ever wanted. Which is a lot.

She takes care not to make any noise. Anne is a light sleeper, though, and usually wakes up at least once during the night to use the bathroom. When this happens (usually between the hours of 2AM and 3AM, with a margin of error of about 30 minutes) she shuffles sleepily to the kitchen and slices up a little platter of fruit for Marcy, bringing it over to her desk with a gentle reminder to sleep soon and a kiss on her forehead.

And Marcy usually does sleep soon. While she usually receives a delicious boost of motivation at some point, it quickly wears off into bleary yawns and a wish to postpone the impending morning in favor of aimless sleep. 

She brushes her teeth quickly but thoroughly and stumbles into the bedroom, shedding her clothes on the chair (and not the floor like Sasha keeps reminding her to stop doing), crawling onto the covers with cold hands and feet. When they first started sleeping together in a single luxuriously large bed, Marcy would tuck herself unobtrusively along an edge. Her best friends caught on to this behavior quickly, though, and now she sleeps sandwiched between them, their body heat ensconcing her in pleasant warmth after the isolation of the night. 

When Marcy comes in to sleep at about 4AM, she never disturbs Sasha, who wears a silk sleep mask and dreams with her brow furrowed in anticipation of her 7AM obligations. Instead, she crawls in from the right side of the bed, clambering over Anne, who throws the covers over her quickly to fend off the outside chill. Even in sleep, though, Sasha winds a possessive arm over her waist, turning to press her face into Marcy’s chest. Marcy likes the feel of Sasha’s sleep mask pressed smooth on her skin, the lace trimming pleasantly tickly on her collarbones. 

Anne spoons her from behind, her curly hair brushing the back of Marcy’s neck. She’s just so soft, pressed up against Marcy’s back, sometimes placing a kiss on her shoulder before tightening her hold around her waist. 

It’s comfortable and warm and soft, Marcy’s idea of heaven. The world demands nothing of her when she’s being held and protected like that. There is love in that bedroom, all the love that her younger self ever wanted.


End file.
